


The conflict between green eyes and fur

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable Castiel, Comedy, Confused Castiel, Do not be turned off by the fact that it is from Harold's point of view!, Everybody is confused at one point, Funny, Human Castiel, M/M, Monsters, Promise it's still cute, Protective Dean Winchester, Random & Short, Revenge, Season/Series 09, Shapeshifting, bad guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the Winchesters leave a monster alive and said monster wants revenge and instead of running into the boys, he comes across a very confused and adorable Castiel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The conflict between green eyes and fur

**Author's Note:**

> Wassssup!?  
> This piece of crap (kidding) was written in a day and while it is short and told from the perspective of Harold, a confused Shapeshifter/Werewolf type breed, it is still very cute and funny and interesting to read.  
> And i promise it's Destiel!  
> Anyway, please don't give up on this because I promise you'll like it (probably)  
> ;)  
> Enjoy!

Look.

Harold didn’t mean for all of this to happen.

It was the hunters’ fault for killing his whole family and leaving him to live and giving him the chance to seek vengeance.

Also, stealing some of their DNA for shifting purposes was a pure accident.

It was the short ones fault that he didn’t realize Harold can also shift into animals sometimes, when he wishes to endure horrible pain and splintering bones and shedding skin so a body suit of hair can grow in its place.

They had wiped their silver blades after killing his brothers- or, are they his _sisters_ … It’s been too long for Harold to remember what they used to be- and the short, green eyed man had rubbed his stomach (he was a German Shepard, for the record), making obscene jokes and leaving without even cleaning up the bodies. Harold had understood why a little afterwards, standing up on his hind legs with his paws on the windowsill, watching as the two men pulled gasoline and matches out of the trunk of their fancy Impala and began dousing the foundation of Harold’s house in the vile substance.

At least they had the courtesy to leave the front door open.

Harold barely had time to get out before his most recent home was melting into shambles of nothing.

As if his time there had been a hoax.

The men had left and Harold took half an hour shifting back into human form. The shorter man’s form, to be precise.

The dire need for revenge was heavy and present in his mind. Harold wasn’t one to let those who needed to be taught a lesson go.

And those boys sure needed a lecture… Harold would have to write up a lesson plan that involved practical jokes and maim or…

Their trail wasn’t difficult to follow.

They had a distinct scent, one of leather and whiskey and a tangible wisp of dust. The rubber from their tires was thick and Harold was thankful that he had learned how to shift clothes onto certain forms a few years back.

It was difficult, but Harold wasn’t in the mood to be arrested for indecent public nudity like the last time someone killed his family.

He whistled as he walked, wishing he at least had a good view to look at. But all that was ahead was asphalt. That wasn’t even around when Harold came into existence!

It took a week and one day to finally stumble across a road that was seemed to be spanned across by the hunter’s vehicle regularly. From there, Harold made sure to stay hidden in the ugly wheat brush and plan his lesson.

You see, Harold wasn’t one for utter annihilation. The other _shifters_ he had run into during his life weren’t really his _family_ per se. More like partners in crime and sport and various sexual activities.

They were nice and all, but most of them enjoyed hurting humanity and wreaking havoc.

Harold wasn’t really into that. Usually.

But it still hurt when hunters came along and took them away. If only they knew how long it took for one shifter to become accustomed to one another! It would take Harold ages to find another pack or whatever it was called these days, and then even longer for them to become _buddies_ …

So he liked to mess with hunters. It was a fun way to pass the time.

Something comes into view as Harold hurries along. It’s an extremely large warehouse sort of deal, part of it underground it seems, by the look of that rock solid iron door. He looks around and before he can decide to run towards the door, an Impala comes barreling from down the road, passing the door and screeching further down the stretch of road. Harold hides behind a dust colored tree, the bark digging into his arm, and as he watches the exterior gleam gorgeously, it reminds him of the good old days. When he attempted to be normal, worked as a mechanic, fixed up cars as broken as himself and sent them off with wishes of good luck and hopeful admiration for his work.

It didn't work, of course, but it didn't end horribly. Some other shifters came along and swept him off his feet and his best wrench was forgotten on his work bench.

Harold follows with a sigh, running now, avoiding the squirrels squealing in the trees as he passes, probably smelling his strange scent and taking cover for the oncoming apocalypse of sorts.

A large garage door comes into his sights and the Impala is pulling through the gaping opening, incredibly slow now.

If he were to guess, to preserve the prime paint job.

What a douchenozzle.

Harold almost laughs as he skirts in through the side, ducking low just in case they come back.

“Whoa,” he says, voice surprisingly gruff.

This place is fucking wonderland! A lair! Batman’s grove, or is it called something else?

Harold runs his finger over the handle of the car and he takes a deep whiff of the men's scent. It’s infused into the damn thing, as if they’ve lived in it their whole lives.

There’s another scent, one with a darker odor of alcohol and anger… One that is years old, one that hasn’t been present in a long time. Harold doesn’t have much time to ponder over the matter.

The men are back, talking loudly and laughing. Bastards. Like _this_ could possibly be _normal_ for them.

Harold hides behind another old car, peeking over the hood. The tall one rolls his eyes as the short one makes a joke, and then they’re climbing back into the car with a few bags in their meaty arms. They roll out of the garage and the door squeals down after them.

With a heavy laugh, Harold pops up and examines the room.

A bunch of lessons are running through his mind. Spray paint? Over turn? Ransack? Naked photos of random people Harold has shifted into during his life… Well, that’s a little drastic.

Harold decides to explore the whole place before deciding.

He walks up some stairs and turns the handle on a heavy aching door that groans as he opens it up. Harold walks through some darkness, flips on a few lights, and steps through another door that leads him into the heart of the expedition.

“Huh.”

He places his hands on the railing and leans over to breathe in their scent. There are a few scents of fellow monsters from different species, but they are quite dry.

There are even a few angel aromas swirling about, sweet and powerful, something he hasn’t been faced with in a very long time.

He heads down the metal stairs, still cautious of making too much of a racket for no reason.

Harold examines the table in the middle of the first room with awe, at the blinking red dots across the map and he wonders what it’s for. He’s in the middle of surveying the abundance of books lining the wooden shelves when he suddenly catches another scent.

Something… Something strong. _Very_ strong.

It smells like watermelon and curiosity and… Is that rain…?

“Dean?”

Harold tenses up at the sound of a deep voice behind him.

_Shitshitshitshitshiiiit…_

“Y-yeah?” he says, turning.

The man in front of him has big cornflower eyes and ebony hair and he looks confused, but handsome and almost excited to see him. He places down his book and walks towards Harold, suddenly very close to him and he’s afraid the guy might shovel a knife into him right then--

“Aren’t you and Sam supposed to be on a hunt?” The handsome man asks, looking up at him expectantly.

“Oh.” Harold scrounges for something, _anything_. “I have decided… Not to go.”

The guy tilts his head and then he looks down at the book in Harold’s hands, the confusion on his face mixing. “So you decided to stay and read a book?” the man takes it from his hands, fingertips brushing against Harold’s wrist, and he examines the cover. “About… Pixies?”

Harold swallows. “Yes.”

The man gives him an awkward smile and hands the book back. “Okay… Are you sure you’re alright Dean? You look a little pale.”

“I… I actually do feel quite down,” Harold squeaks, pressing fingers to his neck.

Immediately, the man’s expression shifts. “Oh!” He seems very hesitant, but eventually his hand comes down on Harold’s shoulder, thumb digging firmly into his clavicle. “Dean, you may not accept my offer, but would you mind if I made you some tea?”

Harold blinks and tries not clench his fists so hard. Last time he did that in a time of necessity, skin came sliding off, like it does when he’s nervous, and… Well, let’s just say it didn’t end well.

“Sure.”

The man brightens and his hand moves down to his upper arm before he walks away, waving for Harold to follow.

And follow he does, strangely enough.

He sits in the chrome kitchen with its large utensils and virtually unnecessary appliances, watching as the man, whose name Harold wishes he knew, makes tea.

It takes him an abnormally long time.

He taps a finger to his chin constantly and slowly moves about, grabbing things like whisks and measuring cups and whiskey when he really doesn’t need to.

Harold truly wonders who this strange man is.

But finally, a cup of tea is brought to him, steaming and smelling of smudged fingerprints rubbed with the faint smell of soap and mint. “Does your throat hurt?” the man asks. “Cause if so, this is bound to help.”

Harold just nods his head and takes a sip. It tastes… Not good. Oh god, not good at all!

He holds back vomit and gives the guy a watery grin. “Not… Not _bad_!”

The man grins awkwardly and sits across from him, nibbling on a wafer and watching him carefully. He eventually has to cough a bit, because Harold doesn’t believe he is able to force the vile liquid down any longer.

Suddenly, the man is leaning forward, pressing two fingertips to his forehead and he freezes.

Then, shyly, the man blinks and he looks crestfallen. He withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry. I- I forget that I’m not an angel anymore.”

_ANGEl!?_

“If I were still an angel I’d be able to heal you,” the man continues, looking up at him with sad puppy eyes that are actually quite adorable.

“It’s okay,” Harold says, trying not to choke.

The man looks down at his hands and Harold tries to remember the name of that angel he met a while back… A long time ago…

Gabby? Mabriel? Bloody hell, his memory has gone to the dogs.

After a few minutes, the man seems to break out of his reverie. His blue eyes gaze at Harold with something so intense he has to look away.

“Would you like to watch a movie?”

Harold grins uncertainly, but movies he can do. “Sure.”

The man nods and with a light smile, he scoops up the empty cup and places it in the sink before leading the way, fortunately. He talks as he walks, about something Harold doesn’t quite understand. Something about rogue angels and someone named Abaddon and how he might have found a way to beat her, but that he’ll wait until Sam returns from the hunt to explain it and how for now they will simply relax because _Dean_ is sick.

Harold fakes a tiny cough and the man gives him sympathetic eyes.

He wonders if the word _movie_ is code for _do the do_ … The guy sure seems to be in love with him, or rather, Dean.

But the guy seems compassionate enough to stick to his word and keep him comfy under the covers in an enclosed bedroom, a laptop placed between their legs.

“What movie?” the man asks as he slips the upper half of his body off the bed to plug in the charger for the device.

Harold avoids looking at the man’s particularly enjoyable behind and instead stares at the screen sporting the name _Netflix_. He’s heard of it before and how wonderfully exceptional it is, but he’s never had the pleasure of searching through it and watching how it works.

“I-I think I’m too sick to choose,” he says.

The man sits back up and gives him a strange look. “Okay...”

Harold swallows as the man presses the space bar. Then boxes with depictions of strange faces appears. One says _Dean_ , another _Sam_ , and then finally!

_Cas._

Huh. Harold looks over at the man- Cas, he is guessing- and looks him up and down, putting a name to a face.

“Cas?” He tests.

“Yes?”

Cas looks over at him with that same curious face.

“Nothing.” Harold smiles despite everything and Cas smiles back.

He clicks on the little orange box with a picture of a penguin and suddenly there are many film options in front of him.

Words state _Continue watching_ in neat little letters and show how Cas has been watching _Orange is the new Black_ and _Wire_ and _Gilmore Girls_ ….

But he scrolls up to _Catergories_ and then Harold is on a ride through insane measures of scrutinizing stares and rolling pictures.

“What about…” Cas bites his lip and taps, jostling the bed and causing Harold’s knee to bumb against his. “Batman?”

Harold smiles. Finally, a movie he has seen!

“That would be nice.”

Cas grins and then they’re watching the movie together. Even though it’s a new version that Harold hasn’t seen. Stupid Hollyweed, or whatever.

And during all of this, Cas slowly scoots closer. His hand rests right next to Harold’s thigh, head sort of up against his arm…

God, this guy is totally in love.

He wonders if Dean is also in love with this ex-angel man.

And even though Harold can ship this adorable gay ship, it doesn’t mean he has to stand back and wait.

Cas is kind. Very nice, handsome, caring…

Harold wishes to mess with him.

They finish the movie and Harold suggests they have sandwiches.

So Cas stays close to him as they head towards the kitchen again, talking his ear off at 100 mph, while Harold composes a plan that could both get him revenge and maybe a little action.

And he is totally planning on doing that when a ring goes off as they walk through the library.

Cas frowns and pulls out his phone and suddenly he stops, limbs going rigid.

“Cas?” Harold asks.

Looking up slowly, Cas looks him over with wide eyes, blinking quickly.

Harold catches the caller I.D.

_Dean_

Harold groans.

So much for a plan.

He rips the phone from Cas’ hand and pushes him back against a bookcase, one arm pressed against his windpipe and the other clutching the phone.

“Wha-” Cas gasps and grimaces, grabbing at Harold’s arm. His fingertips peel skin off of his forearm and Cas looks horrified. “You’re- you’re not Dean.”

Harold grins. “Not exactly, angel.”

The phone rings in Harold’s hand and his mind races because now he feels sort of bad, but….

Hey, playing the bad guy for once might be fun. Or not for _once_ … Whatever. Details don’t matter at the moment.

Winking at Cas, Harold answers the phone.

“Cas? Hey, just wanted to tell you that we finished up the hunt and-”

“Sorry, Dean,” Harold says slowly, putting extra finesse into his voice. “Cas isn’t exactly available at the moment.”

The other side of the line goes silent for a second and Cas looks at him, baby blues wide and dangerous.

“Where the hell is he then,” Dean hisses into the phone. Harold can hear the screech of tires in the background.

“Hmm…” He leans in close and Cas bites his lip as Harold noses at the man’s temple, breathing in his delicious scent. “He’s… Reading.”

“ _Bullshit_.”

Harold whistles and laughs lightly. “I’d suggest you hurry before I get a taste of this sweet angel of yours, Dean… Heaven knows he’d _love_ it…”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean says, sounding very angry.

Cas struggles in front of him, kicking at his shins and peeling off more of his skin, which sort of hurts.

“Get the hell off of me,” Cas says, whimpering when Harold shoves his arm closer to the delicate skin of Cas’ neck.

Dean growls.

“Hey, it’s not nice to call my mother a bitch when you haven’t even met her,” Harold says, grinning at Cas devilishly. “Even though she is…”

“When I get there, I swear to God if you hurt him I will rip your fucking head off,” Dean says.

And then he hangs up.

Harold laughs and throws Cas’ phone somewhere to the right, pressing up against him more forcefully. “Looks like your boyfriend will be here soon… What will we do to pass the time?”

Backing away, Harold walks over to where he threw Cas’ phone and picks it up.

Then he’s getting thrown to the floor.

“Cas! Dammit, just get off of me! I was kidding! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Harold rolls around as Cas straddles him and punches him in the face multiple times, grabbing his jacket and picking him up before slamming him back into the floor.

“Cas!”

Cas slows down when he realizes Harold isn’t fighting back.

He slips an arm out from under Cas’ knee and, bashfully, hands his phone back.

“What the hell,” Cas says, grabbing it and getting up quickly to scurry away backwards, looking around for a weapon probably.

“Look, I…” Harold coughs and stands up slowly, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry. That was really douchey of me, I must admit.”

Cas shakes his head and gives him a pissy confused face.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear. I’m just trying to get playful revenge on your boyf- _friend_ , Dean.”

Cas grabs a lamp from the table when Harold advances, holding up the shade side until he rips it off and threatens him with a lightbulb. “You’re a shapeshifter?” Cas asks, eyes narrowing darkly.

Harold shrugs. “Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Experimental breed? I don’t know. Like I said, my mother is a slutty bitch who left me as soon as I was old enough to shift and hunt.”

Cas cheek muscle clicks and he circles around to the other side of the table, Harold on the opposite end.

“Why are you getting revenge?”

Harold gives him a summary of the past week’s events, eventually sliding out a chair and sighing into the story.

Cas listens, but he looks skeptical.

“What?” Harold asks when Cas’ expression turns even more.

“I- Please stop wearing his face,” he says, like it’s an order.

Harold is about to answer when a heavy jolt sounds above them. Cas looks over and he jumps over the table, putting Cas in between his chest and arm.

“What the hell?” Cas hisses, clawing again, trying to ram his head back into Harold’s.

“Just… I don’t know actually,” he says truthfully as the Calvary comes booming down the stairs with guns out, anger written on their faces.

“Let him go,” Dean booms, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

Harold smirks and pulls Cas closer, pressing his lips against the side of his head.

Cas struggles, elbowing back into him, but to no avail.

“No can do,” Harold says, smiling. “Turns out, I found the perfect way to get revenge.”

Dean stares him down, looking at Cas with a sort of fear in his eyes and Harold realizes that he _does_ love Cas back. It’s written all over his stupidly handsome face.

Sam walks to the right, coming up the steps and Harold turns abruptly, putting his back towards the bookshelves as Cas whimpers at the sudden tightening at his neck.

“Revenge for what?” Dean snaps.

“Killing my friends,” he answers, narrowing his eyes. “Remember that? Or, was that German Shepard too distracting?”

Dean seems to realize what he means and he grits his teeth. “They were hurting innocent people,” he says, moving forward.

With a huff of laughter, Harold runs a hand through Cas’ hair and grips it tight, moving his head to the right and smiling against his neck. Dean's nostrils flare and he looks downright scary. Jealous almost. “It’s our nature, Dean. Just like how it’s in your nature to destroy the earth, strip it of its fruit, kill its young… We’re doing exactly what you’re doing. You just choose to believe you’re higher than the rest of us, just because we live in the shadows. Because we are different.”

Harold gazes over at Sam and Dean, thinking hard because _really_ what has he gotten himself into…

“You took what I had,” Harold says, improvising. “Now I’m going to take what you have.”

Dean’s eyes blaze with fire at the sentence and Harold wonders if maybe he has gone too far this time.

Everything goes silent for a second.

Even Cas stops struggling, as if he’s waiting for _something_.

Anything, really.

If only Harold knew what, uh, exactly he is going to do.

“I will now do something. Bad. Something bad.” Harold clears his throat and purses his lips awkwardly. “Anytime now. Anytime.”

Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together in angry confusion.

“I… I feel as if I have made a mistake,” Harold eventually admits.

“What the f…” Sam lowers his gun and tilts his head, floppy hair swishing. “Okay, honestly, I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Yeah.”

Harold contemplates. His hand drops from Cas’ hair, causing it to stick up in a sexy, messy way.

But he makes the mistake of loosening his hold on Cas’ neck, and suddenly, Cas is twisting his arm around and slamming him down onto his back in .2 seconds.

“Oh fuck.”

Cas stares down at him and Dean appears by his side. “You are quite possibly the worst bad guy I have ever seen,” Cas says, frowning, catching his breath.

Dean touches his back before handing Cas his gun. “Silver bullets,” Dean says.

Harold gulps as he realizes the true danger he’s in.

Grabbing it, Cas doesn’t waste time pointing it right at his chest. “You fucked with the wrong people,” he says, tone deadly.

And then he fires.

 

*

 

Harold wakes up to fresh air and a starry canvas wrapped above him.

He stays still, listening to the dull sounds of forest life and the cracking of a match. It’s hard underneath him, pokey, like he’s on a pile of wood…

“You okay Cas?”

Harold listens intently, staying still and trying not to appear alive before the hunters and their easily accessible weapons. The smell of a tiny flame doesn’t scare Harold, but the only way he’s going to get out of this alive is if they leave.

Unfortunately, a deer defecates somewhere in the dark coverage of the trees and now Harold has to smell that for the rest of his life.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says.

Harold shifts his head, just a bit, and he sees them out of the corner of his eyes. They’re standing close, staring at the match in Cas’ hand.

“I should have realized he wasn’t you,” Cas continues, actually smiling up at the hunter like he is his everything. “But, I guess there were a few things off about him…”

“Like what?”

Cas tilts his head and laughs quietly. “For one thing, he didn’t take one look at the pie on the counter.”

Snorting, Dean nods. “Not my sort of move, huh?”

“No. And he let me pick the movie. And make him tea…”

“Your tea tastes awful.”

“I know. It was supposed to be a joke, but…”

“Anything else?” Dean asks, looking at him.

Light jumps across Cas’ jaw as he looks back down at the match. He throws it at the pile Harold is placed upon and he attempts to not yell because _damn_ it’s already blazing.

“He didn’t look at me the way you do,” Cas finally says.

They’re quiet for a while, but Dean is smiling.

Then, as the flames rise up to Harold’s soles and he’s afraid he might have to melt himself and take a few months repairing himself, Cas turns and wraps his arm around Dean’s neck, kissing him soft.

It’s cute, adorable, Harold ships it and all… But damn. That silver bullet deep inside his chest _hurts_!

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” Cas says against the hunter’s lips. “Being human is worse than I thought.”

Dean laughs and pulls him into a hug, tucking his chin over the shorter man’s head. “I know. But come on, man. I’m here. Sam’s here, and we care.”

“I know. It’s been difficult adjusting to being this. I can’t even heal you anymore.”

“Hey, I was getting concussions and bruises long before you came and I dealt with it. I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

Cas leans back and smiles. “That’s another thing. He seemed very surprised when I attempted to heal him earlier...”

With another laugh and kiss, Dean wraps his arm around Cas’ shoulder and _finally_ they leave.

Harold waits until their heavy footfalls vanish and the only sound is the crackling of the fire licking around him, the smell of burning flesh, _his_ flesh, utterly revolting.

He rolls off the pile and slaps at the scorch marks, rubbing skin off of his fingers. Taking another form, one more familiar and what he considers to be his, Harold endures the pain.

The air smells weak with fire. Animals chatter in the dark, as if sensing him.

Standing straight and smoothing out his shirt, running a hand through his long blond hair, Harold laughs as he stares up at the moon.

He has learned two things:

First, don’t fuck with the Winchesters.

Second…

Harold could really go for a juicy heart right about now.


End file.
